


there are angels in your angles

by misandrywitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blowjobs, Blowjobs in libraries, Libraries, Marauders, schooltime era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:13:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misandrywitch/pseuds/misandrywitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus is trying to study, and Sirius knows a good way to distract him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there are angels in your angles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sable_tyger (lupinely)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupinely/gifts).



> shittybknights.tumblr.com

“Please, Sirius, go away. I’m having a hard enough time studying for this as it is.” Remus drops his head onto the open pages of his Arithmancy textbook and sighs. A great surprise to exactly nobody, Sirius does not listen. Sirius does not go away. Sirius plunks himself down into the other chair across from Remus at what many people have fondly nicknamed the Remus Lupin Memorial Corner of the library, and grins.

“C’mon Moony,” Sirius whines. “It’s a Friday afternoon, it’s beautiful outside. Peter and James are down by the lake and so’s Lily. Why are you holed up in here on a Friday afternoon looking like someone drowned your favorite cardigan?”

Remus raises his head, trying to muster up some semblance of calm. He fails. “Because I, unlike some people, actually have to study for my NEWTS in order to do well on them. Because I, unlike two infuriating people I know, cannot flip through my text the night before and pass with flying colours. Because I care about how well I do on this test. Because the moon’s in two nights and I can’t concentrate on anything. And because I’ve been staring at this book for two hours and haven’t retained any of it.”

“Alright,” Sirius removes his feet from the table. His eyebrows, twin forces of nature, draw together. Remus can’t bring himself to say that he’s been distracted by those eyebrows for years and since they began this relationship, this mutual fumbling around at each other's emotions, this whatever it is, the problem has only gotten worse. They eyebrows, and the clear eyes under them, and also the nose and Sirius’s curving mouth, and his broad shoulders and elegant collarbones and lovely fingers and—

Remus sighs.

“I think,” Sirius’s mouth curves up at the corners, which is a sure sign that he’s planning mischief, “what you need is a distraction. Something to clear your head before you dive back into it.”

“What I need,” Remus protests, but without much heart, “is to be left alone.” It is a lost cause, and he knows it. Sirius is like a dog with a bit of old steak or a particularly stubborn shoe; sooner or later someone has to give in and it’s usually not Sirius.

“Moony,” Sirius snatched the pen out of Remus’s hand and then brushes his fingers across Remus’s face, following the line of the deepest scar that curves over his nose and down his chin. It’s an intimate gesture and it surprises Remus for some reason. But they are that, though. Intimate. “You’re way too uptight and I can help you out with that.”

“That’s a horrible line,” Remus says weakly. Sirius’s fingers brush through his hair. “You steal that one from James or what?”

“It was pretty bad, I’ll concede.” Sirius looks embarrassed.

“And anyway, we’re in the library.”

“So?”

“The library, Padfoot. That other people visit.”

He grins, and his fingers ghost over Remus’s mouth and down his chin. Remus shivers. “Moony—“ he says. “It’s four o’clock on a Friday afternoon,” he slides his fingers down Remus’s right arm, raising goosebumbs, “everyone in the entire school is out on the lawn enjoying the sunshine,” he slides Remus’s sleeve up and lifts Remus’s arm, kisses the inside of his elbow, then his wrist, “and we’re in the dustiest, most distant corner of the library.”

“Nngg,” Remus says.

“And anyway, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Sirius grins very, very wickedly, and slides Remus’s index finger into his mouth. Remus wants to protest that his hands are probably covered in ink and dust, and he hasn’t washed them since lunch, but he can’t really form a coherent sentence.

“Fine,” he snaps. “Fine. Alright. Fine. Just. If anybody comes over here we’ll tell them you dropped my ink bottle on the floor and you’re cleaning it up. That’s the cover story. Right.”

“Nobody’s going to come over here,” Sirius lets go of Remus’s hand and slides under the table. He will get dust on his knees. He winks up at Remus; his eyelashes are like dark wings on his cheeks and his eyes catch the overhead light and are so grey they are almost silver. “As long as you keep your voice down.” His fingers run up Remus’s thighs and over the waistband of his trousers; they tug down his zipper, tug his trousers down around his thighs. Remus breathes out heavily through his nose as Sirius kisses his stomach, his hipbones. He runs one hand up Remus’s cock, under the cotton of his boxers. His mouth is very hot.

“You can’t tease me now after all that,” Remus growls.

“Shut up,” Sirius grins, and slides Remus’s boxers down.

His own breathing sounds very loud in the quiet library; he can hear his heart, his elevated pulse hammering inside of his chest and his throat. It’s a miracle, the human body. Messy and confusing and filled with untidy ends and hormones that don’t make any sense. Overwhelming, messy emotions like anger, jealousy, fear, lust, all the things Remus buries in himself because he doesn’t want to touch them, they all coalesce into this point, this moment in time, Sirius Black’s mouth on his cock. He bites back a moan but his hands gripping the wooden tabletop give him away. He loses his grip and knocks his textbook and a stack of papers onto the floor. It feels staggeringly loud and Remus looks up in alarm. Sirius laughs breathily against the base of his cock, and then seizes Remus’s hand and tangles it in his own hair.

Sirius’s blowjobs are messy and fast and really all-consuming; he throws himself into sex like he throws himself into everything he does, like he’s thrown himself into Remus’s life. Remus forgets to worry that somebody might see. He forgets the exam, the moon singing in his blood, everything else but this. It took them a long time to get here, stumbling around each other and watching each other from behind books out of the corner of eyes. Sirius was too heavy-handed with his words, Remus’s had been too sparse. There had been a moment where Remus was convinced they would never speak to each other again. And now, well, the future is yawning in front of them, unfilled and unplanned and peppered with unfamiliar words, unfamiliar worries.

Sirius’s fingers curve around his hips and Remus digs his fingers into his glossy hair; he finds himself almost inadvertently grinding his hips against Sirius’s mouth. Sirius glances up at him, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wicked. He is, inexplicably, an anchor.

 Here they are, Remus thinks. Against all odds. Here they are. He comes hard, shouts Sirius’s name.

Footsteps echo out in the front of the library and Sirius slides out from under the table, brushing dust off his knees and smoothing his hair out of his face. He kisses Remus roughly, open-mouthed, and his hands brush through Remus’s hair.

“Good luck studying, Moony,” he chuckles and strides out of the library, boots heavy on the wood floor, whistling as he goes.

Madame Pince rounds the corner just as Sirius vanishes out of sight. Remus has barely managed to zip up is trousers and gather his book and papers from the floor. He is very aware that his hair is mussed and his face flushed and his sleeves are askew.

“Mister Lupin,” Pince looks bewildered. “I thought I heard shouting back here.”

“No,” Remus quashes the laugh bubbling in his throat. “Just me.”

“Strange,” she says. “Well. You ought to be outside, anyway. It’s a lovely afternoon, you know.”

“Yeah,” Remus says. He shoves his book into his bag realizing he really won’t manage any more studying this afternoon. “It really is.”

 


End file.
